


The Kansas City Incident

by red_sky



Series: Miles Traveled and Cars Crashed [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2017722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_sky/pseuds/red_sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It makes no fucking sense. Since when did his brain decide that oh hey, guys are cute? Why did it decide by the way, Dean’s cute? And pray tell, why is it deciding that sitting in a car with Dean is absolutely the best time to question what all of this means?</p><p>He needs a drink. A very strong, very stiff drink. Possibly with a shot of bleach in hopes that it will clear his system of these very strange and completely inappropriate thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kansas City Incident

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's been a little while, but real life got in the way there for a bit. Boo on real life. Not to mention I've been super bummed by the fact that WWE "split up" Dean and Roman without giving us a segment saying so. And then there was the shitshow that was Battleground. But I've finally found the time and the urge to continue, so here we are!
> 
> This installment covers the January 27 Raw and the following days thereafter. Basically it covers the beginning of the Shield vs Wyatts feud. Constructive crit is always welcome, and as usual, I hope everyone enjoys this installment!

Roman _hates_ Ohio.

It has nothing to do with the arctic sub freeze that currently has Ohio gripped by the balls. It has nothing to do with the dull, gray sunrises and sunsets and general lack of scenery. It has nothing to do with Ohio being the cornerstone of boredom, which it completely is in comparison to other places he’s been. Maybe one day, he’ll get over his hatred of Ohio, but these days, he hates it with the power of a thousand fiery suns.

Because Ohio turns Dean into an _asshole_.

To be fair, Dean is always an asshole. Day or night, he’s always doing _something_ to annoy _someone_. But it’s usually just slightly jerkish things, like swiping the last bagel in catering and not telling anyone about it. Or like the time he put on one of Seth’s shirts, re-enacted the Fat Guy In A Little Coat scene from Tommy Boy, ended up tearing the shirt just like Farley did (because Seth buys the smallest possible shirts; they’re actually more like crop tops than actual shirts), and just threw it back in Seth’s suitcase like nothing ever happened. Okay, so that had been hilarious, but Seth had almost murdered him when he found out about it, so that probably still counts as an example of jerkish behavior.

But being in Ohio turns Dean from mild everyday asshole into grade-A world-class Olympic Champion asshole. Maybe being in Ohio brings back bad memories; Roman knows better than to ask, but that’s the only explanation. He’s fine when Seth and Cesaro finally pick them up; when Seth asks him if he’s feeling better (which is Seth’s code for “Did you apologize?”), Dean looks at Roman pointedly before looking back at Seth and nodding in affirmation. He’s quiet on the ride to the hotel, but it’s not an awkward silence. More contemplative than anything else, but for the most part, he seems to be fine.

But the next morning, he’s surly and rolling his eyes hard enough that Roman’s convinced they’re going to roll right out of his head. He’s not even bothering to speak in full sentences; all he seems capable of are monosyllabic grunts. And for some reason, even Roman’s mere presence seems to grate on his nerves, even though Roman had thought that they had reached an understanding the night before. Every little thing Roman does seems to annoy Dean this morning, from him getting the shower first (which Dean had spent the entirety of banging on the door and yelling, “Don’t clog the drain with all that hair!”)  to him leaving the hotel room without making his bed (“Oh, because it’s housekeeping’s job to do it, right?” he had snapped, even though technically it _is_ housekeeping’s job) to the fact that it took him a few minutes to figure out what he wanted to eat (“Just fucking pick something, Jesus fucking Christ.”).

It’s like last night never happened, and even Seth’s annoyed by it. “Who pissed in your Wheaties, dude?” he asks on their way to the venue.

“I didn’t eat Wheaties,” Dean snaps.

“It’s a metaphor, dick,” Seth retorts. “What the hell is your problem today?” He looks from Dean to Roman, and the warning in his voice is very, very apparent. “I thought you guys worked everything out.”

“We did,” Dean replies. This is news to Roman, because he thought Dean had made it clear this morning that they hadn’t worked anything out at all. “Maybe I’m just in a bad mood. Is that okay? Am I allowed to just be in a bad mood?”

“Not when your bad moods involve snapping at everyone who breathes in your general direction,” Seth counters. “Which they always do, so no, you’re not allowed to be in a bad mood. I forbid it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Roman can see Dean open his mouth, and can see that he’s three seconds away from going the-dragon-from-Game of Thrones on Seth. The last thing they all need is for Dean and Seth to be fighting, so Roman speaks up before it reaches the point of no return. “Just leave him alone,” he tells Seth. “It’s been a rough few days.”

He’s not surprised that Seth immediately backs off, nodding his head and turning his eyes back to the road. He’s always thinking about the team first, and he never, ever holds anything Dean says or does against him. He is surprised, though, when he glances back at Dean, and Dean’s looking back at him with a small, even grateful little smile on his face.

“Thanks,” he mouths to Roman, and Roman’s stomach does _not_ suddenly feel like it’s lodged in his throat. Except it totally does.

It had been easy to forget about the night before when Dean had been channeling his inner Jack Torrance this morning. But now that he’s actually being nice and actually _smiling_ at him, he’s remembering how his brain had betrayed him by slotting Dean into the “Cute” category, despite him never having a “Cute” category before. Apparently the rest of his body has decided to go into business with his brain.

It makes no fucking sense. Since when did his brain decide that oh hey, guys are cute? Why did it decide by the way, Dean’s cute? And pray tell, why is it deciding that sitting in a car with Dean is _absolutely_ the best time to question what all of this means?

He needs a drink. A very strong, very stiff drink. Possibly with a shot of bleach in hopes that it will clear his system of these very strange and completely inappropriate thoughts.

Thankfully, they’ve got some business to attend to tonight. The moment they get to the arena, Triple H pulls them aside and tells them that Daniel Bryan might be a problem tonight, and they need to be ready for the signal to take care of said problem. Roman can’t say that he likes Bryan; he’s strange (even stranger than Dean), and that beard is fucking ridiculous. But he respects the hell out of him whenever he steps into the ring, and watching him and Seth in the ring together is a master class of what wrestling should be in its finest, most pure form. Sonnets could be written about Seth’s and Bryan’s matches, they’re that damn good.

However, a job’s a job, and if Triple H wants Bryan taken care of, then he’ll be taken care of. Nothing personal; in the grand scheme of things, Roman only cares about making sure he and his boys get the opportunities they deserve.

Backstage is abuzz, with both whispers of what Bryan’s going to do tonight and, of course, the Shield’s meltdown last night. Both Roman and Seth ignore the pointed stares, but Dean can’t. If looks could kill, several of their co-workers would be piles of blood and guts. To be fair, most of them are sending those pointed stares at Dean, and Roman knows what they’re thinking; Dean’s jealousy over Roman’s success is going to be the Shield’s undoing.

He secretly fears the same thing, too. But he can’t think about that right now, not when they’ve got a job to do (and when he’s undergoing an identity crisis regarding these weird feelings that he’s suddenly developing).

Take Bryan out of the picture. Simple enough.

Except no, it’s _not_ simple enough. As usual, everything spirals out of control, and their well-timed attack is thwarted by Sheamus and Cena. Which is fine, cause Hunter makes a match for Elimination Chamber slots, which is awesome in theory, except for the part where Bray Wyatt and his hillbillies come out of fucking nowhere and attack Cena, and they get DQ’d and lose those spots that practically had their names written on them.

To say that they’re all pissed would be the understatement of the century.

Seth surprisingly loses it first, screaming at the top of his lungs and throwing anything around ringside he can get his hands on. Dean’s screaming, too, but he paces instead, hands clenching handfuls of his hair, and ordinarily Roman would tell him to let go, he doesn’t need to pull out what little he has left, but he’s too pissed to worry about Dean’s steadily increasing hair loss. He doesn’t even remember climbing up on the broadcast table, but at one point, he does sees Dean out of the corner of his eye, standing below him while Seth is flittering around throwing shit. A part of him is pleased that they’re united again, but mostly, he’s feeling the need to rip out someone’s rib cage and wear it as a party hat.

They get backstage and to their dressing room, and Seth’s still not done throwing shit. He grabs a chair and flings it across the room, and his eyes are so wide, Roman’s worried they’re going to pop out of his skull. This is the second day in a row that Seth has lost his temper, and Roman’s pretty sure that he’s going to end up having an aneurysm.

“What the fuck was that? What...what. Was. That?!” he’s screaming. Roman doesn’t think it’s addressed to anyone in particular, maybe to himself. Seth does like to talk to himself, says it’s the best way to work out strategy. Dean normally makes fun of him for it, but none of them are in the mood to bust the other’s balls about anything right now.

“I’ll tell you what that was,” Dean’s saying. His eyes are wide, too, and his hands are shaking, he’s so angry. “That was a death wish. That was a motherfucking death wish, cause I’m gonna beat the fucking swamp water out of those Real McCoy motherfuckers!”

“It doesn’t make any fucking sense!” Seth’s finally stopped throwing shit across the room; instead, he’s throwing his stuff into his bag, seemingly ignoring Dean’s extremely outdated pop culture reference slash death threat. “I get that he’s got his shit with Bryan, but why would he attack Cena and ensure that Bryan gets into the fucking Chamber?!”

“Who cares?!” Dean screams. He’s still pacing, although he’s thankfully stopped pulling chunks of his hair out. “It doesn’t fucking matter the why, what matters is that we’re gonna make those inbred fucks pay!”

“Of course the why matters!” Seth retorts. “The why always matters!” He turns back to his bag, zipping it up and muttering to himself. “I gotta figure out the why. I need to figure out the why.”

Roman’s not surprised that this is what Seth’s focusing on. He’s always analyzing everything, from their opponents’ moves to their weaknesses to their motivations. If he wasn’t a wrestler, he’d be a great psychologist, but Roman can’t complain. It’s Seth’s obsessive compulsive need to analyze that has a lot to do with their success. But he’s afraid Seth’s barking up the wrong tree, and he shakes his head. “Don’t go there, man. You don’t want to get into that sick fuck’s head.”

“He’s right,” Dean agrees, pointing at Roman. If Roman wasn’t so pissed, he’d keel over and die from the shock of Dean actually agreeing with him. “There’s no rhyme or reason with guys like Wyatt. Guys like him? You get in their head, you won’t ever get back out. You’ll just drive yourself mad. Trust me, dude.”

He fixes Seth with a level look, and he leaves it unsaid, but Roman can hear it anyway. _Trust me, I would know._ Dean would know; everyone thinks he’s nuts now (and he _is_ , Roman won’t try to pretend otherwise), but Roman’s seen some of the shit Dean did when he was in the indies. The Dean of today is Mr. Rogers in comparison to the Dean of yesterday. If Dean of all people says not to analyze Wyatt, then fuck, don’t try to analyze Wyatt.

“Let’s just get our shit and get out of here,” Roman suggests. “We’ll figure it once we get to the hotel.”

That seems to calm Seth down. At the very least, he stops bouncing his leg and gritting his teeth, things he always does whenever he’s amped up. At this point, Roman will take any victory he can get.

They’ve got an hour and forty-five minute drive; Seth is driving, so really, the drive’ll be about an hour and twenty minutes. He’s so pissed off, though, that it ends up only taking about an hour. Roman normally fears for his life whenever Seth drives, but by the end of the trip, he vows that he will never, ever allow Seth to drive ever again. He says as much when they get to the hotel, and Seth just snorts with derision. “You made it here, didn’t you?”

“Barely,” Dean mutters, climbing out of the back seat. “By the grace of God.”

Roman tries to suppress a snort, he really does, but after the shitshow that was tonight, it feels good to laugh. Seth glares at him, but Dean’s giving him a small little smile that almost suggests they’re co-conspirators. It does not make Roman feel warm inside. Fuck, it makes him feel warm inside. “You’re a dick,” Seth retorts, but that just makes Dean smile wider.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“A dick with the mentality of a five-year-old,” Seth adds.

“Aww, did someone piss in your Wheaties, too?” Dean practically coos in response, still grinning.

That grin, though, slides off his face when Seth whirls around, dropping his bag and gritting his teeth. He starts to advance on Dean, but Roman steps in before he can haul off and punch Dean. “Hey, hey, hey, calm down,” he tells Seth, slipping one arm around his waist and putting his other on Seth’s shoulder. “He’s just joking. Like you said, a dick with the mentality of a five-year old.”

“This isn’t the time to joke around,” Seth snaps. He peeks around Roman’s shoulder and glares at Dean, who has mercifully fallen silent. “In case you haven’t figured it out, we got screwed over by a group of psychos tonight.”

“I know-”

“Do you?” Seth laughs at that, and Roman shudders a bit at how desperate Seth sounds. He’s not sure if he’s ever heard Seth like this before.“This isn’t like anything we’ve faced before. _They’re_ not like anything we’ve faced before. You need to take this seriously, man. This is _serious_.”

Dean doesn’t respond. Roman glances behind, and Dean’s just standing there with that somber, almost contemplative look he gets sometimes. Roman doesn’t stop Seth from pulling out of his grasp, and he watches as Seth grabs his bag and walks away. He knows that Seth’s pissed off right now, but this is beyond pissed off. This is completely unlike Seth, and he turns back to Dean, at a loss for words.

“He’s freaking out,” Dean finally says, looking up at Roman. His voice is quiet, almost subdued.

“Yeah.”

“He doesn’t freak out.” Roman tries to ignore the fluttering in his stomach when Dean steps closer, until they’re within arm reach of each other. “It’s not like him to freak out.”

Roman knows. Seth is always the cool-headed one, always confident and in control. He has enough confidence for himself and Roman and Dean both. He never loses his cool, he never falters, he one hundred percent believes in himself _always_. But tonight, he’s rattled to his very core, and Roman almost feels like a kid watching a parent have a nervous breakdown. It scares him a little.

“We gotta keep an eye on him.” He’s pulled from his thoughts by Dean’s voice, who’s stepped even closer. His voice is lower than usual, and even though Roman’s worried about Seth, he actually shudders when Dean speaks again. “Can’t let him fall down the rabbit hole, alright?”

“Yeah.” That fluttering has turned into a full-on assault in Roman’s stomach. He has no idea what the fuck is wrong with him, why listening to Dean talk about this is making him feel so fucking weird. It’s not like it’s anything new, despite his reputation for being an asshole, Dean _cares_ about Seth. He always has, even when they were feuding in developmental.

And Dean knows how it feels to fall into a hole of desperation and obsession and how it totally ruins you. He doesn’t want the same to happen to Seth; hell, neither does Roman.

So it makes sense that Dean would essentially ask Roman to help him make sure Seth doesn’t fall prey to demons he doesn’t quite understand. There’s no one else he could ask. But it still feels strange, even awe-inspiring that Dean would _trust_ him enough to ask for help. Dean doesn’t trust anyone, except for Seth. And Roman, too, apparently.

He tries to hide the grin on his face at this revelation. Thankfully, he manages to wait until Dean’s walking ahead of him, but once Dean’s back to him, he’s smiling so wide his cheeks actually hurt. He’s still pissed off about their loss tonight, but a part of him kinda wants to send the Wyatts a fruit basket in thanks for this gift they’ve unknowingly given him.

Okay, so maybe not. But the sentiment remains the same.


End file.
